The Unburied Future
by frustratedstudent
Summary: A sequel to "Acquaintance With Responsibility". It's 1848, and a certain young Courfeyrac's appearance forces the Pontmercy family to face their past, and the memories of friends long gone. Update: Marius and Cosette put two and two together...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is the follow-up to "Acquaintance With Responsibility". This picks up right after the epilogue of the first story. Many characters from "Acquaintance" as well as from "Les Miserables" itself make a comeback here. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables, or any of the characters or situations depicted there. However I own these characters: Armand Courfeyrac, Auguste and Thierry Lautrec, the 4 Pontmercy children (Marie-Fantine, Georges, Lucille, and Jean), Pierre Smith, Claudine Renault, and Bernard Renault. _

**The Unburied Future (I) **

_October 1848_

The last thing that Armand Courfeyrac had expected to get from his interview at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire was a dinner invitation from the Baron Pontmercy himself. Even after he had taken leave of the Pontmercys' house, promising to return two nights later, he still could not quite believe that the past hour or so had happened.

"_Yet for all it's worth, it's a chance I cannot miss,"_ Armand thought as he got off an omnibus all the way back in the Latin Quartier. He adjusted his hat over his well-combed brown hair before walking in the direction of the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau. It was a rather brisk day; Armand could see how the rising wind was giving trouble to some of the ladies who were walking about with their voluminous skirts and extravagant hats. A few times, the breeze almost knocked his hat off or threatened to put his coat in disorder.

At last, he arrived at the door of a small office with the words "Lautrec and Partners" printed on a sign near the window. Armand knocked thrice on the door, which still had a dent in it from the blow of the butt of a musket.

"Back so soon?" a rather stout young man greeted as he opened the door. His coat was open, showing his rather rumpled white waistcoat and barrel-knotted cravat.

"Well, Auguste, I wasn't the only person who had an appointment with the Baron Pontmercy," Armand replied jovially. He took off his hat and dusted it with the palm of his hands. "I have to thank your father for writing that recommendation for me. It made matters a lot less awkward at the beginning most especially."

Auguste Lautrec rolled his eyes knowingly as he walked back to a desk that was situated in a corner of the office. Unlike the rest of the premises, which was set up for a lawyer's purposes, this particular nook was piled high with Latin notes, some books on science, two inkwells, and other paraphernalia belonging to two young students. "That is just a formality. You would have impressed the Baron by your just speaking with him," Auguste said.

"He did ask me to join him and his family for dinner on Wednesday."

"Amazing! You must have made a real impression on him to invite you back."

"_I impressed him, but not exactly in the way I hoped I would," _Armand thought wryly. He put his hat on top of a stack of books. "It also turns out that the Baron was a friend of my father," he said.

For a moment, Auguste's jaw dropped. "How so?"

"They fought together in an emeute, the one back in 1832," Armand replied. "He also said that my father showed him some kindnesses here and there when he was much younger. Then again, according to my mother, my father was kind to _everyone_."

"Your father and the Baron were probably students together," Auguste commented. "You should ask him more about the past, about what happened before you were born. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Armand shrugged. "He himself admitted that there was only so much he knew. Maybe he'll tell me more over dinner."

"Still, it's better than nothing."

"You're right about that," Armand said more lightly. He glanced at the desk, where Auguste had left an essay out to dry. "Still struggling over Latin?"

"I never get those conjugations completely right," Auguste said with distaste. "I was hoping you could look over it before our lessons tomorrow."

"I'll find time to help you there," Armand promised before picking up his hat again and heading to the stairway. "Tell me if you're going out for lunch, Auguste," he called over his shoulder before walking up to his room. The Lautrecs, namely Auguste and his father Thierry, occupied the entire second storey of the small house. The third floor had Armand's room, as well as Monsieur Lautrec the elder's private study.

Armand carefully placed his hat on top of a chest of drawers before sitting down on his bed. The room was quite comfortably furnished: he had a soft bed, a well-polished desk, a smart-looking chest of drawers as well as a tall cabinet for his clothes, three chairs, and a woodstove. However there were some peculiarities to this room: some of the floorboards were loosened in strategic locations, and there was a particularly well-concealed hollow in one of the walls. More than once, Auguste had commented that these little alterations had probably been surreptitiously created by some revolutionary student who, by now was probably living the bourgeoisie life.

"_Then again, Auguste was always the cynic," _Armand thought as he went to his desk, where a worn-looking box sat half-buried among some books and papers. He extricated this box from the chaos and placed it on his lap as he sat back on the bed. Inside the box was a variety of folded papers, some of them already turning yellow at the edges.

"It was a good thing that Maman rescued so much of my father's things," he told himself. He had gone through these before, but now he intended to examine them with a different purpose in mind. Some of these papers were official documents, such as his father's actual will. These he left untouched as he pulled out the various letters and notes that comprised the rest of the box's contents.

Some of the letters had been written in two hands: one was halting, with a tendency to create ink blots amid rounded letters. The second was more slanted, but the script was a little more ornate, bearing the clear mark of someone who had been taught proper penmanship. Armand knew that this first script belonged to his mother while the second was that of his father. He carefully set aside their correspondence aside, having no wish to be privy to some of their more intimate details.

Still, there was also the matter of the fifty other letters that had been written neither by Paulette Vigny or Maurice de Courfeyrac. None of these other missives had been written by women; Armand thought it unlikely that his mother would have saved any other letters from his father's former mistresses. However what was before him was also just as puzzling: notes filled with code names, cryptic metaphors, and obscure references to places in Paris.

Armand picked up one letter that looked as if it had been rolled up and folded to fit in a small space. The handwriting covering the paper was firm and flowing, but significantly less florid, as if the writer had no time for decoration or even pleasantries.

_June 15, 1831_

_I have just reviewed your equations; they are all very well to my eyes, but I suggest you rewrite them in a form more accessible to the pupils. Nevertheless, we will be meeting about them soon enough. _

_M. D tells me that you have written out several papers already. I thank you very much for that since it has made our work so much easier. In particular, I am grateful that you have chosen to participate in this undertaking; inasmuch as you and Citoyenne V have been struggling with your affairs, you still freely choose to help us. _

_I will make it clear now that I shall be spending the summer here in Paris, unless of course some urgent matter requires that I visit our friends again. I had expected to be summoned home upon passing the bar, but it seems as if my father has divined my reasons for wanting to stay a little longer. As usual, he advises that I be cautious with my dealings and focus on my profession. _

_Do not forget to bring the newest equations as well as your essays on our next meeting. _

_Regards, _

_A. E_

"Of course I am pretty sure that they were not exactly talking about mathematics!" Armand grinned. He knew a little about such codes; he had encountered some during the days leading up to the eventual overthrow of Louis-Philippe. However it still astonished him to see such things in a friendly note.

The signature, Armand decided, was the most telling thing about the letter. He guessed that this "A. E" was none other than his own godfather, Antoine Enjolras. This man was also just as much an enigma, if not even more, than his own father was. Clearly Armand's father had been very close to this man named Enjolras, and held him in particular high regard. However the correspondence between the two was quite short and straightforward in comparison to some of the more elaborate missives in the box.

"There has to be someone who can tell me more about this," Armand thought as he put away the letter. Surely there had to be at least one other person still living in Paris besides the Baron Pontmercy who was connected in some way to the incident at the Rue de la Chanvrerie.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Chapter 2! Dinner comes next chapter though. _

_Eponine Thenardier: There may be the beginnings of a romance-I think it's unavoidable in the Courfeyrac line. Armand is only 16 going on 17, and the oldest of Marius' daughters can only be 14 years old at the most (if she was born in 1834 after Valjean's death). _

_Mlle. Patria: To be exact, Armand is occupying the room Enjolras had before he was forced to move out when the gendarmes raided his place in the autumn of 1831. I mentioned that Enjolras had once torn up the floorboards (but gave up on that measure), and was also using a recess in the wall to hide his documents. This guy meant serious business back in the day!_

_Colonel Despard: More Hugolian coincidences to come in this one. _

**The Unburied Future (II)**

"Nervous again, Marius? It's just a dinner guest!"

Marius could only chuckle at this gentle jibe from his wife. "He's the son of my old friend, that's why," he explained. He fiddled with his cravat before continuing, "Even if Courfeyrac, God rest him, has been gone all these years, I still feel that I never paid him back completely."

"Maybe that's why you met his son. The name is Armand, isn't it?" Cosette replied, stepping over to help Marius with his cravat.

Marius smiled as he let Cosette help him out. "Actually it's Armand Julien, according to the letter from Monsieur Lautrec. He's three years older than our Marie-Fantine," he said.

"Three years older…he was born _before_ the time you went to the barricades," Cosette said thoughtfully. "And you never knew he existed?"

The lawyer shook his head. "Courfeyrac was _very_ discreet about that. I didn't ask when he moved to the Rue de la Verrerie, or even when he took a job. Apparently he was providing too for Armand and his mother. If I had known, I wouldn't have kept on borrowing five francs from him every week," he replied.

He sighed ruefully as he remembered the reason for his loan. "_If it hadn't been for my dead father's memory, I would have gladly just forgotten Thenardier altogether," _he thought. It still sickened him to some degree that he had been so willing to take the part of a known scoundrel, and in the process he had quite neglected his true benefactor.

Cosette gave him a sympathetic look as she finished adjusting the cravat. "What kind of man was he? All these years, you never said much about the friends you had before we were married."

"I was never sure about how to talk about the dead," Marius admitted. Nowadays the details of the past, such as the particulars of his friends, were becoming more difficult to remember. "About Courfeyrac, well you already know he was the friend I was living with. Like me, he was taking up law, but he wasn't eager to finish and pass the bar. I suspect it was because he didn't want to go back to Gascony after his studies were over."

"I knew that already, Marius," Cosette said. "But what else?"

"He was kind to everyone, he always seemed to be up to something, he knew how to make people laugh and he knew how to listen. He always lent a hand, no questions asked," Marius said more easily. It was far easier to remember his friend this way.

Cosette nodded by way of understanding. "He must have been the sort of friend you really needed at that time. Did he know about you and me?"

"No. He did ask though. Courfeyrac really had a way with women, and I wasn't about to have him giving me advice or anything of that sort."

"You sound like you were a little jealous then."

"I couldn't help it! I didn't want to lose you."

"Oh you silly," Cosette laughed. "You were the only one I had eyes for then, and even till now."

Marius kissed her cheek. "I wish I could tell you and young Armand more, but there isn't much. The best I've got is a letter that I've kept."

"Oh? Will you show it?"

"Perhaps," he said. He went over to the small bureau in their room, under which was a box full of different keepsakes and mementoes that he and Cosette had saved over the past fifteen years. He rifled through the box and brought out a letter, still folded over neatly.

"He wrote this to me on one of my birthdays. I'm not sure why I've kept it, but perhaps it's because it was just so…him," he added as he opened the note.

_May 4, 1830_

_My friend Pontmercy, _

_Happy birthday! I do not think it's likely that you're expecting this letter from me, or for that matter, letters from anyone. If I am the only person to write to you today, I truly hope this letter brings you good cheer. If only you were present, I would open a bottle by way of celebration. _

_So I hear you are on the brink of passing the bar and taking that grave step away from student days. I would have advised you against this; you are far too young to be somber, but I suppose your need gives you no other option. Truly though, I admire your fortitude, Pontmercy. I can think of few men who could have withstood all that you have endured over these past years. I say this because I myself cannot imagine myself as Monsieur de Courfeyrac the lawyer, or as Monsieur de Courfeyrac the bourgeoisie. It does not have a nice ring to it, unlike your name and titles. _

_I wish though that we could have seen more of you, and that is not just in the Musain/. Each time I ask about you at the law school, I always hear that you have gone straight to your lodgings after classes, or you are at work. Nor does any one of our friends see you lingering on the Luxembourg or at any café. I do hope you aren't depriving yourself entirely of pleasures; how can you live that way? Surely a moment to chat is no expense in itself, my friend. I imagine that the theatre may be quite taxing to you in more ways than one; you would not have enjoyed Hernani as much as Prouvaire did, but there are some entertainments present that I had hoped would catch your fancy. _

_If there is any way I can be of assistance to you, please let me know. _

_As always,_

_M. Courfeyrac_

Even as Marius read through the letter, he could almost see before him the narrow walls of the Gorbeau house, the busy streets of the Latin Quartier, and all the scenes of his youth. "_How would it have been if I had really seen more of them?" _he wondered as he let Cosette finish reading.

"He understood. He knew what you were facing, but he did wish it could have been easier for you," Cosette said after a while. She smiled as she pressed the letter back in Marius' hand. "So this Armand, is he anything like his father?"

"In looks," Marius said. "Though when it comes to taking after his father's character, I am not sure if I'd like that."

"Why not?"

"I'd fear for Marie-Fantine then."

Cosette rolled her eyes. "She's just a child, Marius, what harm could come to her? And besides, she's a smart and strong girl who isn't overcome so easily."

It was at that moment that Basque knocked on the door. "Baron Pontmercy, Monsieur Armand Courfeyrac is waiting downstairs," he said.

Marius and Cosette exchanged looks. "We can't keep our guest waiting. You receive him first, I'll see to the children," Cosette said.

Marius patted her hand before heading to the door. "_I hope though that I can remember I am dining in the present," _he thought as he went downstairs to the anteroom.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Second part here! (took a break from NaNoWriMo and my insane cast to do this). Then again, what sanity can be in this story? _

_Insanemistosingmore: I hope I don't disappoint with the latest chapter_

_Eponine Thenardier: Maybe young for romance, but not too young to have a crush. Marius does have cause to fear for his daughter. =))_

**The Unburied Future (III) **

"_It's just a dinner party, there's no reason to be nervous," _the young man reassured himself as he finished tying his cravat. He smoothed down his waistcoat and his cuffs before donning his black coat. He sighed as he examined the effect of the dark color against his skin. If he hadn't been in mourning for his mother, he would have chosen a less somber color for this occasion.

He glanced towards his desk, where the box of letters still sat. Over the past few days, he had been poring over some of the notes, hoping he could glean some common thread of thought, or some facts he could ask the baron Pontmercy to clarify for him. Armand drew out a paper randomly from the box and smoothed it out on the tabletop. These words greeted him:

_December 12, 1830 _

_Courfeyrac,_

_Firstly, this is to apologize for the incident at the Symphonie fantastique. I am sure you are aware that I did not intend to have your clothes torn or your mistress so neatly stolen. I hope you will not hold it against me, for too long at least. _

_You and the others must understand that I sincerely meant well by putting those unruly students in their place. If there is anything that I have learned in the past few months, it is that the Friends of the ABC cannot simply be one of those student groups that discuss, vent, and rave on the steps of the universities or in the cafes. For one thing, we have others in our ranks; workingmen whose situations in life are so much more grim than ours. They know very well what they fight for: freedom, the right to have bread, the right to live with dignity, and to be counted as citizens instead of mere subjects._

_Secondly, we must always be primed for action. You remember how it was last July, how we marched out with so few armaments, with barely any medical supplies for our emergencies, and with barely any plan other than what Enjolras and the section chiefs discussed. It was quite amusing on some counts, but we could have won the day more easily, and so much more thoroughly if we had been prepared. It will not do for us to shoot a few bullets, then to simply toast the fallen as the Duc d'Orleans takes the throne. I'll be damned if we let that happen again. _

_This is the best explanation I can give for now, in writing, and only because you pressed me so for an answer. Till next week. _

_Your friend, _

_D. Bahorel_

"Just how much of his life did my father spend fighting?" Armand wondered aloud. He carefully ran a comb through his hair to keep it looking presentable. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

Auguste was reading in the second floor foyer instead of at his usual place downstairs. He signaled for Armand to be quiet. "Father is arguing with some client in the office. Correction. Clients. They're brothers."

"What are they talking about?" Armand asked.

"Something about money, a claim, and some information," Auguste replied with a shrug. He gave his friend a once-over. "I hope, for the Baron's sake, that he does not have a daughter who's your age," he pronounced.

Armand snorted. "That's unlikely. If he had, I would make sure to keep my distance. I have no wish to cause trouble, for myself or for him."

Auguste nodded before turning a page of his book. "I'll see you when you return then. Enjoy your dinner," he said.

Armand smiled before walking downstairs and outside of the house. He couldn't help but take a good look at the front of the house, in particular at its narrow windows overlooking the stump of a once-mighty tree. "_Probably chopped down for the barricades last February," _he thought before going to hail a fiacre. Even though he had been living on the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau for some months now, something about the house continued to unnerve him. 

When he arrived at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, he saw that the house was brightly lit. Basque was at the door, waiting for him. "You're right on time, Monsieur Courfeyrac," the older man greeted. "The Baron is waiting for you in the anteroom, and the Baronne and the children will join you shortly."

"_Just like my grandparents' parties at home," _Armand couldn't help thinking. Although he had a most unenviable status among his kin, he was still given the benefits of occasionally mingling with them and taking part in grand events. It had perhaps been a concession in order for him to grow up with some good breeding and proper manners.

"There you are, Monsieur Courfeyrac," Marius Pontmercy greeted him. He paused as if to catch himself before smiling wryly. "My apologies, I still have a little difficulty with calling you by that name," he said.

"I think calling me Armand would suffice," the young man answered.

"Armand then," the baron agreed. "I trust you did not have difficulty finding this place in the evening? The Marais always looks different in the dark."

"It was a good thing the fiacre driver knew where this place was."

Before Marius could say anything to this, the sound of footsteps came from the hallway. "Father, have you seen the journals?" the lilting voice of a young girl called moments before the anteroom door opened.

"They're probably in my office, Fantine. We'll get them later, since we have a guest," Marius said, looking up to greet his daughter. He sighed with relief. "Thank goodness you're presentable," he added, motioning for her to come forward. "Armand, this is my daughter Marie-Fantine Pontmercy. Fantine, meet Armand. He is the son of a friend of mine," he said by way of introduction.

"Charmed to meet you, mademoiselle," Armand said, kissing Marie-Fantine's hand politely. She was tall and slender for her age, with straight dark brown hair that was tied neatly back by a white bow. Her eyes, which were a shade of dark blue, had a keen and curious look around them.

"Are you a student at the university, Monsieur?" Marie-Fantine asked.

"Not yet. I hope to enroll next year," Armand replied.

The girl nodded before glancing at her father. "If only I could go as well," she said half-teasingly to him.

"Now we've discussed this. I will arrange a new tutor for you, but I'm afraid that unless some miracle happens, you will simply have to be content with reading from the library here," Marius said sternly. "My daughter hopes to become one of the first ladies to enroll in the medical school," he explained to Armand.

At that moment, more footsteps sounded in the hallway. "I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long," a woman who could only be Madame Pontmercy said as she entered the room, with three other young children in tow. One was a boy of about twelve years old, judging by his round childish face and gangly frame. He was dressed in a suit that was essentially a miniature version of his father's. The two youngest Pontmercy children were a girl and a boy of perhaps nine and seven years respectively. The girl had darker eyes than Marie-Fantine, and seemed to tiptoe instead of walk. The boy on the other hand was dressed in a very childish looking suit, trimmed with lace and other niceties.

Marius smiled affectionately at his wife. "Your timing is impeccable as always, Cosette. Here is our guest, Armand Courfeyrac."

Armand bowed politely. "My thanks in advance for your hospitality, Madame," he said. It was clear where Marie-Fantine had inherited her gaiety and sweet manners.

"It is a pleasure, Monsieur Courfeyrac," Cosette said. She gave a gentle push on her oldest son's shoulders before motioning for the other two children to greet Armand. "This is Georges, then Lucille, and the youngest, Jean."

Georges shook Armand's hand smartly. "Are you a lawyer like my father?" he asked.

"Not yet," Armand replied. "Are you going to be one too?"

"I'm not sure yet. I might want to be a soldier like my uncle Theodule," Georges grinned.

Armand had to keep a straight face even as Marius and Cosette exchanged despairing looks. "I suppose dinner is ready. Shall we go to the dining room?" Cosette suggested.

"Finally!" Jean blurted out. "I'm hungry!"

Marie-Fantine smiled affectionately at her siblings. "They're a lot noisier than this, usually," she said in a more confidential tone to Armand.

"You know, it wouldn't be a difficulty for me, but rather, a delight. I did not have any brothers or sisters," Armand told her.

"That is the most terrible thing," Marie-Fantine remarked as they followed the others to the dining room.

Much to Armand's surprise, he found that he felt quite at ease with the Pontmercys. Unlike some of his de Courfeyrac cousins, who had been pushy or even downright mean, the Pontmercy children teased and joked with genuine affection, and included him in the fun. Furthermore, it was clear that even after all these years, the Baron Pontmercy and his wife were still quite smitten with each other. "_Would my parents also be that way if they were both alive today?" _Armand couldn't help but wonder silently.

He wondered when he could possibly bring up the topic of the Friends of the ABC. It did not seem too seemly to be dragging in the memory of the dead into this occasion. However during a lull, some time before dessert, Armand could not help but speak up.

"Monsieur Pontmercy, I was going through my father's papers, and he mentioned more than once the Friends of the ABC. What was that about?" he asked earnestly.

Marius took a deep breath before looking Armand in the face. "They were a secret society in Paris. Almost all of them were young men, though there were at least one or two gray heads in the group," he said slowly. "Your father was one of the principal members."

Armand nodded, trying to digest this bit of knowledge. "Were you one of them?"

"No, but I was friends with some of the members. I fought alongside them at the barricade, for reasons of my own."

Armand looked down, understanding that it would be imprudent to inquire about the baron's part in the matter. "They were Republicans, I imagine?" he asked after a few moments.

"Yes most definitely. I think though that there were a few who were more inclined to go beyond a republic and towards Utopia," Marius said. He shook his head as if to clear away some distant memory. "You must understand; they weren't politicians or soldiers. They were young men like you. They loved to go to the theatre, to have mistresses, to write poems, and to dream, but the difference was what they dreamed about, and how they wanted to bring it about."

"Did they do anything other than fight and have meetings?" Armand wondered.

"They wrote a great deal. I used to have copies of some of the newsletters they gave out; you would have loved your father's prose," Marius said with a smile. "Some of my friends were involved in free clinics and even teaching the workingmen. Another friend, actually the leader of the entire group, was able to become a lawyer and fight things out in the courts."

"What was his name?" Armand asked.

"We used to call him Enjolras. I can't remember his Christian name," Marius replied.

Armand felt his lips tugging upwards in a smile. "He was my godfather."

The older man's eyes widened with disbelief. "Enjolras was your godfather? I thought he would be the last man to ever agree to such a thing!" he muttered.

"Why so?"

"He was quite radical in all aspects, even with religion. So radical that he used to refer to Napoleon Bonaparte as 'Buonaparte'."

Armand didn't quite catch the significance of this fact, but he still found himself nodding. "Was my father the same?" he asked.

"Yes and no. Yes because he also believed in the future, he wanted to help bring about a Republic, and of all of his friends, he was the most fed-up with kings. No, since he was not as strict with himself as Enjolras was," Marius replied with a nostalgic smile. "Maurice, that's your father's name, was always more of a man of the world, but a good one."

"What do you mean by strict as opposed to being a man of the world?" Armand asked.

"Maurice was always asking if I wanted to go to the theatre, take lunch or dinner with him at a café, or simply find some good entertainment. It was not that he wasn't serious about anything, but he just preferred to be around people a lot. On the other hand, Enjolras lived for revolution. He never had a woman, hardly spent his time or money to amuse himself, but he knew exactly who to talk to, and what to do," Marius explained. "Yet he was a good friend, especially to Maurice, which was why I suppose he became your godfather. I can't think of any other reason for Enjolras to have done such a thing."

Armand nodded reflectively. "When the barricades…happened, did they have any other friends in Paris? Friends who would be alive and in Paris now?" he asked.

Marius shrugged. "You could try asking among the lawyers if any of them remember Maurice or Enjolras. You could also try with the doctors working at the hospitals. Some of them may remember a man named Combeferre or another named Joly. Those two were doctors. I am not sure about who in Paris could tell you more about Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet, and Grantaire. Those were some of the other principal members. There were others, but their names definitely escape me now."

"It has been sixteen years after all," Cosette said gravely, giving her husband a meaningful look.

"Sixteen years since you gave Maman a very good scare," Georges said under his breath before Marie-Fantine elbowed him.

"If they were alive today, what would they be doing?" Cosette wondered aloud.

"My father would still be fighting it out with my grandparents and my uncles. That, or he'd be a discontented lawyer," Armand suggested.

"Maybe. I believe that if they had lived, they would have continued their fight. The world as we know it now would be very different," Marius mused aloud. He took a sip of his wine and swallowed hard. "Very different indeed."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! More things will emerge from the past here.  
_

_Insanemistosingmore: I had fun writing that chapter, but I hope that the next ones will be even better. _

_Eponine Thenardier: Armand is really such a charmer, isn't he? I think he'll get pretty challenged by Marie-Fantine though; she's a very sharp young lady, quite unlike Armand's own mother. _

_Colonel Despard: I agree with how Enjolras and Combeferre would have made history if they had lived. That becomes a major point here. :D _

**The Unburied Future (IV) **

Mornings in the Pontmercy household could usually be described as an orderly chaos. While Marius would prepare for work and Cosette would see to the affairs of the house, the four younger Pontmercys would inevitably be tripping all over each other to get ready for their classes. Until fairly recently, all of the Pontmercy children had been enrolled together in the same school.

"_It would still be so, if only the schools in this neighborhood would admit Marie-Fantine at her age," _Marius thought as he watched his oldest child reading through a particularly thick book from the family's collection. It wasn't for lack of brains or ability that Marie-Fantine had been dropped from the roll; rather, it had been owing to the prevailing belief of the teachers in that institution that a girl of Marie-Fantine's age was better off continuing her education at home, if not in a convent school.

Regardless of the cause, now the Baron Pontmercy found himself hard-pressed to engage a tutor who could properly educate Marie-Fantine in things other than womanly arts and social graces. He and Cosette had decided against sending any of their children to boarding school; after all, Marius was living proof that one could get on without the experiences picked up from "going away to study".

He couldn't help but mull over this fact as he finished writing down a legal brief. The majority of his friends had experienced studying away from the supervision of their parents, even before their university days. "_Some might say that accounted for them being adventurous, though I am not entirely sure about that," _he thought. Meeting Armand had only solidified Marius' conviction that in some cases, an intrepid spirit was something that was actually inborn.

"Father, do you mind if I ask a question?" Marie-Fantine said from where she was sitting in the chair that Marius usually reserved for his clients.

"Certainly not. Unless of course, it's better off answered by your mother," Marius replied.

"Well, it's about what I ought to do, you see," Marie-Fantine said, resting her elbows on top of her book. "I know there's nothing _wrong_ with doing what Maman does, staying home all day to take care of us, and going out to help people. I'll get to that some day, but what am I going to do before I get married? I don't want to sit here all day, playing the piano and keeping house while I wait for my suitors."

"You mean, you want to be useful," Marius said. This was a conversation he had privately been dreading for some time, for the simple fact that he could not think of a situation that was appropriate for a girl of Marie-Fantine's age, sensibilities, and social standing.

"Very much so. And not just in a simple way like teaching Lucille and Jean, or looking after someone's children," Marie-Fantine replied.

"Perhaps you could ask your mother about that. She may know a friend or two who could use some help," Marius said.

"If only I was a boy, then I could be like Monsieur Courfeyrac, working in an office while studying. It's difficult, so he said over dinner two nights ago, but it sounds quite interesting," the girl said.

"_Leave it to Armand to put the idea in her head," _Marius thought with some dismay. While he knew that Armand was a decent young man, the fact still remained that he was the son of Maurice de Courfeyrac, and had obviously inherited his father's charming ways and romantic outlook. "_Since he's coming here with some papers from M. Lautrec, I'd better find a way to get Marie-Fantine to go elsewhere in the house," _he decided.

"I was just a little older than Monsieur Courfeyrac was when I left home. I did the same thing; I was translating books while I finished my licentiate in law," Marius informed his daughter. "Believe me, Fantine, it was _not_ easy," he added in an undertone as he began flipping through an old book he had set aside on his desk as a reference.

As he thumbed through the volume, a scrap of paper fell out into his lap. Marius picked up the yellowing sheet and smoothed it out on the table to examine it. "_Why are all these notes popping up all over the place?" _he wondered to himself.

"What is it?" Marie-Fantine asked.

"A note from a friend who was in the same plight," Marius said wryly.

_July 14, 1829_

_Dear M. Pontmercy,_

_ I hope that this note finds you in better circumstances than when we last met. Please do not trouble yourself with returning immediately the five francs you borrowed last week. You were ill, you needed the medications, and no amount of honor or pride would have sufficed to cure you. You may have heard from Joly or the others that I have need of the money, but I assure you, that was only because of my foolishness with my last five louis. _

_ Till we meet again,_

_ L'aigle_

"That is an awfully strange name," Marie-Fantine observed.

"It was merely a sobriquet," Marius explained. He had seen it come up in a number of writings following this, the most recent being in a certain paper he had picked up one morning in 1831. Before he could ponder on searching his files for the lost newsletter, he heard a knock on the door of the study.

"Monsieur and Madame Renault," Basque announced.

Marius sighed resignedly; he had been dreading meeting this particular client. "Fantine, please entertain Madame Renault. Your mother is in the sitting room; explain what's going on. It won't be long, I promise," he said to his daughter.

"May I bring this book out?" Marie-Fantine asked as she got to her feet.

"You may, but please remember to talk to our guest," Marius said good-humoredly. He looked up just as the Renaults entered the room. "Good day to both of you."

"And to you too, Monsieur Pontmercy," M. Renault greeted. He was a tall, wiry man with gray hair that was thinning on the top of his head. He had a badly kept-beard, but his clothes were neat and at the height of fashion. On the other hand, Mme Renault was a sweet-faced woman who had clearly gained a few pounds thanks to the bourgeoisie lifestyle. She wore an elegant green coat over a plain gray dress, and her dark brown hair was simply dressed.

"Have a seat, Monsieur. Madame, my daughter will see you to the sitting room. I believe my wife is there already," Marius said politely.

Mme. Renault glanced at the book that Marie-Fantine was reading. "What is that about, my dear?" she asked the girl.

"It's a copy of Notre Dame de Paris," Marie-Fantine said.

Mme. Renault's face softened with a smile. "I loved that book when I was a young woman. Why don't you tell me what you think about it?"

At this, Marie-Fantine lost no time in bringing Mme. Renault to the sitting room, all the while gushing about the terribly tragic turn she had just found in the plot. Marius listened amusedly, but he could see that M. Renault's eyes had narrowed with disapproval. "I never bar my daughters from perusing the library," Marius explained.

"Well, my wife was quite a bluestocking. It helps me since she understands the business, but otherwise..." M. Renault said, shaking his head. He put his hands on Marius' desk. "Now about the matter of my settlement..."

Marius patiently brought out the portfolio with the documents regarding M. Renault's case. It was a pretty straightforward matter, but it was only becoming difficult because of his client's particularly shrewd opponents. "_Luckily this isn't the sort of thing that may come to a trial," _Marius thought.

Towards the end of their discussion, Basque knocked on the door again. "Monsieur Courfeyrac is here to see you," he announced.

"Who is this?" M. Renault asked.

"A young man I am intent on sponsoring. He's fallen on hard times, but he is a very clever and earnest fellow," Marius answered. He nodded to Armand as he entered the room. "Good day to you, Armand. I was just telling my client, Monsieur Renault, about you. Monsieur Renault, may I introduce Monsieur Armand Courfeyrac."

The younger man bowed politely before going to shake M. Renault's hand. "Am I interrupting anything important?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Marius assured him. "Monsieur Renault is a businessman, specializing in importing foodstuffs. He has some contacts even in the government."

"Some of them the most useless of radicals," M. Renault said with distaste. "You don't look like a university student, Monsieur Courfeyrac."

Armand shook his head. "I am enrolling only next year."

"You'd better be careful to stay away from the radicals," M. Renault said. "Those troublemakers start young; it is usually in the universities that those useless emeutes begin. It is a proper waste of education that you see when a young man decides that it would be better to throw his lot in with a red bonnet than with his studies."

"With all due respect, Monsieur, sometimes it is more than just education, but actual thinking that leads some men to that course," Armand replied.

"_Careful now, Armand," _Marius almost warned. Before he could step forward to defuse the situation, M. Renault got up from his seat rather briskly.

"I thank you for your assistance, Monsieur Pontmercy. Good luck with your studies, Monsieur Courfeyrac," he said stiffly. He glanced towards the door. "Now I hope Claudine is quite through with socializing..."

Marius went to the door to tell Basque to summon Mme. Renault. After this, he took the papers that Armand handed to him. "That was a little imprudent, my boy," he said tersely in an undertone. "That man knows his way about."

"Perhaps, though I do wish he did not generalize as well," Armand pointed out.

The study door opened again, this time admitting Mme. Renault, Cosette, and Marie-Fantine. "Ah, you're here Monsieur Courfeyrac. How have you been?" Cosette greeted Armand amiably.

"Very well, Madame," Armand replied. He bowed cordially as well to Marie-Fantine. "You are looking well too, Mademoiselle."

Much to Marius' relief, Marie-Fantine did not dissolve into giggles or even turn red when Armand spoke to her. "Have you read Notre Dame de Paris, Monsieur Courfeyrac?"

"Not yet, Mademoiselle."

"Well you should."

It was only at that moment that Marius realized that Mme. Renault had turned pale. "Madame, are you quite well?" he asked.

Mme. Renault nodded. "Young man, your name is Monsieur Armand Courfeyrac? And was your mother's name Paulette?" she asked in a cautious voice.

"You are right with the names. Why do you ask?" Armand replied.

"Good God, it cannot be..." Mme. Renault said. She took a deep breath to compose herself. "I am quite sure you would not remember me, since you were hardly two years old when you and your mother left Paris. The last time your mother and I spoke, my name was still Claudine Andreas. However I knew your parents, somehow."

"How so?"

"Your mother used to work for my father. As for your father, he was a close friend of a...particular friend of mine," Mme. Renault answered.

"Madame, I was also acquainted with Monsieur Courfeyrac's father," Marius said. "If you don't mind me asking, who was that particular friend of yours?"

Mme. Renault sighed deeply. "His name was Francois Combeferre."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for the long interval between updates. NaNoWriMo and work do not do good things to my Les Mis muse. _

_Insanemistosingmore: I figured I had to do something about Claudine, since she featured quite a bit in the first story. _

_Eponine Thenardier: Actually Marie-Fantine was inspired a little by one of my role models, Anne Marie Eugenie Milleret, who was a contemporary of Victor Hugo's. Mlle. Milleret (or Mme. Eugenie as she became known in the religious order she founded) was particularly progressive especially when it came to educating young women. _

_ColonelDespard: I think that Marius would be reluctant to deny Marie-Fantine her wishes, considering that she is a clever girl, and is probably as wily as her mother. But I did not know about Hugo becoming progressive about women's participation. Thanks for pointing it out. :D_

**The Unburied Future (V) **

"_This definitely was not what I expected for the remainder of my morning," _Armand thought as he tried to make himself comfortable on the hard settee in the Renaults' anteroom. It was all he could do not to listen in to the heated conversation in the next room. It had not exactly been his idea to accompany Cosette and Marie-Fantine to the home of their new acquaintance; but he had agreed to escort them since the Baron Pontmercy was busy with a number of other matters, and besides, Mme. Renault clearly wanted to discuss some other matters with Armand himself. "_Not that I actually have any objections," _he thought as he glanced once again to the partially open door to M. Renault's study.

"I wonder how she came about reading so much," Marie-Fantine said from where she was seated in a decidedly more comfortable armchair. She had with her another novel, this time one from Mme. Renault's personal collection. The young girl opened the book, noting which pages were marked. "She's read Hugo, and even Stendhal," she grinned.

"Which is why I asked if she could come by twice a week to give you a few lessons. She knows what she is about, and she has no difficulty imparting it," Cosette said from where she stood, examining a painting near the mantelpiece. "Though sadly, I fear that you may end up with more than what you have actual use for," she added a little wryly as an afterthought.

Marie-Fantine shrugged before she closed the book. "So Madame Renault was a friend of your mother's? Why didn't she know you were in Paris?" she asked Armand.

"I suspect my mother tried to track her down, but she must have been married by then," Armand replied. "That, and changed her address as well."

"Your mother never married, did she?" Marie-Fantine asked.

"At least one man offered, when I was still very young, but she turned him down. I suspect that it was because my grandparents had threatened her that if she married, they would have to disinherit me since it meant that I no longer would depend on the inheritance that should have been my father's," Armand said. He figured now that this threat might have been an empty one, but it had its effect all the same.

"That sounds quite terrible."

"There was that, but also, I think that she might have still loved my father."

"Your father must have been quite a man if your mother could love him even when he was gone," the girl remarked.

"That he was," Armand agreed just before the door opened. Mme. Renault entered, holding a small box.

"Are you alright, Madame?" Cosette asked her concernedly.

"I am, thank you," Mme. Renault said, sitting down on the settee next to Armand. "I am glad you're here. I can finally give you this. It isn't fair to my husband, or to Francois' memory that I have been holding this back," she said, placing the box in Armand's lap.

"What is this?" the young man asked.

"Letters, sketches, papers. Most of them are from Francois, but there are a number of papers there from his friend M. Enjolras, who I believe also happens to be your godfather," Mme. Renault answered. "I had no idea what to do with them for all of these years, but now I believe that they are better off with you than with me."

Armand weighed the box carefully in his hands. It was quite heavy, and a slight shake yielded the solid rustling of dozens of densely folded papers. "If you don't mind me asking, Madame, how did you come to know M. Combeferre?" he inquired cautiously.

"I was a very young woman then, living at Picpus where my father ran a fabric shop. At that time, Francois was an intern at the Necker Hospital. I met him when I had to come get my brother after he had been beaten up quite badly in a fight. Francois had helped tend to him. He noticed that I had a book with me, and it piqued his curiosity," Mme. Renault said. A small smile crept on her face as she patted the box. "We loved to discuss stories, and then science. It wasn't long till we eventually began to talk about politics. Francois was a good doctor, but his dream was to become a teacher, to write books, and eventually to become a professor. The two of us sometimes talked of starting a school together."

"It sounds like a lovely thing," Marie-Fantine couldn't help commenting. "And an extraordinary thing to talk about as well."

"Francois was definitely extraordinary. So was Armand's father, so was M. Enjolras…all of the men in their secret group were extraordinary somehow. I at least couldn't help but be a little fond of all of them, but of course I loved Francois the best since we understood each other," Mme. Renault said.

She paused to catch her breath. "Of course it exasperated me from time to time when they would try dangerous things, like speaking against the Bourbons or the Duc d'Orleans in the middle of the Luxembourg. I think that was Francois' other good friend M. Prouvaire who did that, and dressed in a most startling manner too. Yet I couldn't help but _want_ to help them from time to time, when I could or when they would permit me to."

"My husband never mentioned such things," Cosette said. "Yet he did say once that it was M. Combeferre who told him something that almost cut him to the core, back when they first became friends."

One of Mme. Renault's eyebrows shot up. "He did? Oh…I do remember Francois telling me once that he had to listen to M. Pontmercy explain at length about Napoleon Bonaparte, and that he had to step in to correct him. Though I see what you mean, sometimes he could be extremely direct."

"You said that my mother once worked for your father. How did that come about?" Armand asked a little impatiently.

"It was your father who arranged that," Mme. Renault replied quickly. "Paulette, that is your mother, had been forced to leave her job in the Latin Quartier once it became obvious that she was in a certain…condition. When your father found out, he lost no time in asking me if there was a place in my father's shop. Luckily I had been trying to do too many things at once that year, so the help was very much appreciated."

"_So that was why Maman was working at Picpus,"_ Armand realized. "I never knew that part," he mused in a low voice.

"M. Courfeyrac, if I can call you that, you should know that your father was the most responsible of men," Mme. Renault said firmly. "Francois and his friends used to describe your father as being quite light-hearted, sometimes almost heedless, especially when it came to his love affairs. However, when it mattered, he would be the first person anyone could count on. He went as far as setting you and your mother up to live at Picpus after you were born, just so that his concierge or his family wouldn't ask too many questions. He loved you very dearly; Paulette used to tell me how he found it so difficult to leave the two of you the day before the emeute. I daresay, he never treated anyone else so dearly before."

Armand found that it was difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I know that he sacrificed a great deal just to ensure that I could live well enough," he said.

"You do not know half of it. I didn't know your father as well as Francois or the others did, but I saw how he changed, how he did his best to give every consideration to your mother while she was carrying you. You should have seen him the day you were born," Mme. Renault said. "The joy on his face, and the _pride_…I have never seen it before or since in any other man," she added, her eyes briefly drifting to her husband's study.

Armand nodded. "What happened on the day of the emeute? Would you know?"

"Oh no," Mme. Renault said. "The last time I saw Francois and his friends was the day before Lamarque's funeral. After that, well it was when I had to identify what was left of them before their burials. Before I did that, I had to go to their lodgings to get these papers before the police or someone made a search. Your mother took care of your father's effects."

"_I guess that's a puzzle that I will never completely solve," _Armand realized. "I thank you for this, Mme. Renault," he said at last.

"No, thank you. You have given me a reason to come out with the truth at last," the woman said bravely. She glanced at the box again. "Mind if I open that? I believe that there is one letter there that I ought to keep, but I will read to you its contents."

Armand handed the box back to Mme. Renault, who opened it and pulled out the topmost letter. "It's the last letter to me from Francois. I'll spare you some of it though," she said.

_June 4, 1832_

_My dearest Claudine,_

_ I sincerely hope you never have the occasion to read this. The first chance I get, I intend to recover it from you and burn it so as to further affirm the fact that I am alive. Yet if you are reading this, as I have instructed you to do so in the event that I do not return, I am very deeply sorry and pained by this fact. It only means that our journey together, in the form that we know it, has ceased, and that you have only my memory to contend with…_

_ …of all the women I have met, you are the one I have held in the highest esteem as my co-discoverer, fellow philosopher, dreamer, and traveler towards all that is great and new. You have proven to me that indeed, those of your sex should be given the opportunity to advance, to be protected so that they may flourish, to live and speak freely as we men do. I believe that even in my absence, you will continue to embody this truth, to pass it on to other friends of ours, and perhaps to those you shall nurture in your own fashion someday…_

_ …I had hoped, my love, to be at your side, to have your hand in the plan with mine as all our hopes and hard work come to fruition. While Enjolras and Courfeyrac turn the law to its benevolence, while Prouvaire writes the bold tales of our struggles, while Feuilly uplifts the dignity of so many like him, I had hoped it would fall to us to do our work in the remaking of men by doing away with the poverty of the mind. I had hoped that we would refine those interesting turns in optics before submitting them for an exhibit or publication. I had hoped we would start a school together. Yet now, I do not know how much of it will be possible if you are to act on your own. Please, I pray you, find someone who can help you bring about these dreams. They are no longer ours alone, but necessities for humankind…_

_ … Tomorrow is uncertain. I do not know where the barricades will rise, I do not know exactly how many will come to our side at the decisive hour. Yet there are two certainties that remain now for me: that what we will do tomorrow is but a step towards the great work of liberty, and that you will, as sure as I am that my heart still beats, consider me as a dear friend, if not, at least a companion. _

_ At the very last, with all my love, _

_Francois Combeferre_

Armand found that he could not say anything to this moving, yet honest letter of bequest. He saw that Cosette's smile had turned pensive, while Marie Fantine's eyes were grave, almost as if she was on the point of tears. Mme. Renault silently folded up the letter and slipped it into the bosom of her dress.

"I had thought that my husband would be the one to assist me in bringing this about," Mme. Renault said at last. "Yet perhaps, he is not ready yet…"

"Madame, I am pretty sure that there are men in the universities who would take an interest in those works," Marie-Fantine finally said. "My father has mentioned some of them."

"Well yes. Yet what would they say if I was the one who came forward, with the half-finished work of a man who was charged with subversion and acting against the government? Yet perhaps in this Republic, the opportunity could finally present itself," Mme. Renault said.

"I am living with a lawyer now, M. Lautrec. He knows a number of men, and he can help you meet with some of these scholars and professors," Armand offered. He was sure that once he and Auguste (who had the better head for the sciences) had examined the sketches and papers, they would find something worth studying there. "_I wouldn't be surprised if M. Combeferre had actually been ahead of his time," _he mused.

"You would do that?" Mme. Renault asked.

"I think it is what my father would have done."

"Once again, you have my thanks, young man," the matron said with a mixture of relief and gratefulness. "Where have you been staying in Paris? I need to know where I can meet you should you perhaps succeed with helping me in this venture."

"Number Seven, Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau," Armand answered.

Mme. Renault's brow furrowed. "I know that address. That was where Francois and M. Enjolras used to live before their lodgings were raided by the gendarmes some time before you were born," she said. "Francois' room was on the second floor."

"_Something interesting to tell Auguste," _Armand thought. "And did my godfather live on the third floor?" he asked.

"He did. Why?"

"I was wondering who tore up the floorboards."

"Well, now you know," Mme. Renault said.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Finally having time to sit down and think this over. In which Marius contemplates disturbing possibilities…and is confronted once again with something he'd like to forget.  
_

_Insanemistosingmore: I almost cried too while writing about the note. Maybe one day I'll get around to writing more about Combeferre and his lady, just to see what they were really up to…_

_Eponine Thenardier: I'm thinking of actually working in a cameo/reference to Mlle. Milleret (turns out that by 1848, she already had her school in Paris). Would be interesting to see how these very strong women, both real and fictional, would impact the world of the Pontmercys and Armand. _

_Colonel Despard: I really had to subvert the "revolution me?" Combeferre trope. I believe that if he hadn't been such an ardent participant in events, even Enjolras wouldn't have grown into the person that he is. _

**The Unburied Future (VI)**

In the days after the Renaults' visit and Armand's further discoveries, a new routine was established in the Pontmercy household. Mme. Renault came over on weekdays to give Marie-Fantine lessons in subjects ranging from literature all the way to the sciences. Oftentimes their discussions revolved around the latest journal articles or the occasional public exhibition. As for Armand, he visited the Pontmercys quite frequently, whether to assist Marius with some matters, or to simply have dinner with the family. Georges had taken a liking to the young man, and often begged for stories of his adventures growing up in Gascony, or for him to join in fencing practice.

"That is all well and good, Cosette," Marius said one December morning when his wife made a passing comment on this matter as they were sitting at the breakfast table after the children went to prepare for their lessons. "Georges needs an older relation or friend apart from myself. I cannot be the only one to form that boy's opinions or to keep him company, and I am glad that Armand seems to have befriended him."

"Yes, but in case you haven't noticed, there is another one of our children who has also taken a liking to Armand," Cosette replied amusedly. "And no, it's not Jean or Lucille."

"_Dear God, just what I had feared," _the lawyer realized. "I'm not inviting him back to dinner then. Ever," he blurted out.

"Just over that?"

"Marie-Fantine is only fourteen!" he exclaimed. "And Armand is…three years older than she is. Who knows what he'll do to her?"

"Marius my love, I seem to recall that some eighteen years ago, I was _fifteen _and you were _twenty_ when you kept walking up and down all over the Luxembourg," she teased. "And don't tell me you did not notice me then."

"That was different! I couldn't even _speak_ to you with your father there," he said defensively. "Besides, this is _our daughter_ dealing with none other than the son of my deceased bohemian friend."

"She only fancies him as a friend, or maybe a little more, but of course she'll keep her head about her," she pointed out. "You yourself said that Armand was a young man of good character."

"As a student, yes," Marius said. He sighed on realizing how ridiculous he was beginning to sound. "You know I can't help it. She is our eldest child. I had hoped this day would not come for a long time." He now was beginning to have some idea of the worry and anguish that he and Cosette must have certainly caused for Jean Valjean in the past. "_God rest him," _he thought as he got up from his seat and ran his hands through his hair. He frowned as a gray strand came off in his hands.

Cosette stood up and went over to him, placing her soft hands on his shoulders. "It will be fine, Marius. You and I can keep an eye on them, and if Armand decides to make his intentions known, then you can be as frightening towards him as you like," she said reassuringly.

Marius couldn't resist a smile as his hands met his wife's fingers. "You always know what to say, Cosette," he said, turning to face her before planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Yes, and what would you do without me?" Cosette grinned as footsteps sounded towards the dining room.

"Papa? Maman?" Marie-Fantine greeted. She was dressed in a practical, but dainty outfit, with a long coat over her blue dress. "Will you be coming with me and Mme. Renault when we call on Mlle. Milleret?"

"I will. Just give me a minute to get ready," Cosette said amiably before leaving the room.

"What will you be doing at Mlle. Milleret's?" Marius asked. "Isn't she with an order of nuns who run a boarding school?"

"Mme. Renault said she wanted to discuss with her some ideas for my education," Marie-Fantine explained. "And besides, Mlle. Milleret's school is the talk in some salons."

Marius nodded understandingly. "_If only I had enough sense when I was her age," _he thought. Somehow, he felt a little relieved on seeing this; perhaps Marie-Fantine could be trusted to comport herself properly with regard to the situation with Armand Courfeyrac.

As if she had read his thoughts and was set to dispel them, Marie-Fantine handed a book to her father. "You said last night you were visiting Monsieur Lautrec today? Could you please send this to Monsieur Courfeyrac? I've been terribly tardy with returning it."

Marius' eyebrows shot up. "_The Social Contract?" _

"Well yes. It is quite interesting, confusing, and somewhat impractical, yet I can see how a man can draw an idea from that," the girl said.

"Careful now with that reading of yours, my dear," Marius warned, taking the book. For a moment, he feared finding another familiar script on the inside cover of the book, but to his relief this particular volume seemed to be rather fresh.

"Papa, it is merely reading, not agitating," Marie-Fantine said lightly.

"_And it better stay that way," _Marius almost said, but he settled for nodding at his daughter. "I just worry about you," he said before bidding goodbye and heading to his study to fetch some necessary papers. In a short while, he was on his way to the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

When he arrived at M. Lautrec's place, he came across Auguste Lautrec meticulously going through papers in the front room. The boy had laid out a series of news clippings all over a desk, and was now going through what looked like an old letter. "Oh good morning, Monsieur. May I help you?" he said by way of greeting.

"I'm Monsieur Pontmercy. I'm here to see your father," Marius said.

"Oh you're that friend of his. He has a meeting in his study," Auguste replied, absent-mindedly holding the letter up to the light.

Marius nearly started on seeing the penmanship on the note. "Where did you get that letter?" he asked slowly.

"I borrowed it from my friend," Auguste explained. He gestured to the papers he had been examining. "It's an odd mystery I'm trying to trace, Monsieur. You see, there have been some robberies about, and my friends and I were wondering if it was merely an heir to another famous series of robberies by a single group. Apparently it seems as if a friend of my friend's father might have known a bit about a certain band known as Patron-Minette."

_Patron-Minette_. Marius blanched as he saw before him the squalid Gorbeau hovel. "I have heard of them. I doubt that what is happening now has any connection with them…"

"Perhaps," Auguste shrugged. He looked to the note again. "Have you seen this note too?"

"No. Do you mind if I take a look?" Marius said. He took a deep breath as Auguste handed the note to him. The hand that penned this old missive appeared to be a fine one, but the ink and the paper betrayed its humble origins.

_February 1832_

_My friend M. C._

_ Here, I will explain what I could not say in front of the other Amis. It would not do much good to have them thinking that we are in league with such unsavory characters, or to scare away some among our number who may also have shadier stories to tell. _

_ Please warn young P about that man he is assisting with his weekly five francs. The innkeeper Thenardier is but the mildest in the entire network; he is new to the trade, and knows comparatively little about what is called Pantin. I may not be the best judge of character, but I have a feeling that this man may turn from viler to vilest if he persists in such mendicancy, and in such company. _

_ I will not detail the entire group here. There is one entire clan, the Brujons, which I cannot describe without running out of paper. I shall only sketch out for you four particular associates who may be of particular danger to P, and consequently to you. _

_ There is the trickster Babet. He is a man of multiple trades; thin and harmless looking at the first glance, but what a mind he has! I had to deal with him during my first days in Paris, and while his knowledge of the streets is more than sufficient for survival, it is also quite detrimental. He is, I daresay, the schemer of the quartet. He presents himself as a diaphanous looking man who must have been drawing teeth; it was his previous occupation. _

_ Then we have Gueulemer, a positively massive man. Even D. B would have a difficult time knocking him down. Fortunately Gueulemer never acts alone, and is quite easily outsmarted. If one sees him, it would be best to flee if one is not equipped with some weapon. _

_ Then there is Montparnasse. I pity him the most; I knew him when he was a gamin, before he learned how to use a knife to earn his living. He is the most presentable looking of them all; he could rival you when it comes to being at the height of fashion. I regret to say that his clothes definitely came at a blood-price. He is a handsome fellow with dark hair and lips so red-you may have seen the grisettes swooning over him, provided that A. E is not in the vicinity. Montparnasse may have some connection to the innkeeper via his family. I have yet to ascertain this. _

_ The fourth, Claquesous, is quite difficult to describe. He is particularly stealthy and does not show his face; but should you chance upon a ruddy man with the shoulders of a stevedore and the manners of a great blusterer, then that may be him. I had the chance to see that aspect of him once, when he was ill. He has been in Paris the longest; he came here after his mother fell on hard times after his uncle was imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread. _

_ You may also pass this note to A. E, for caution's sake. These four are not to be trusted, even if revolution is in the air. If only some way could be found to redeem them, but that is not exactly within our powers yet. _

_ Till we meet again._

_D. F. _

Marius shook his head as he reread the note. "_If Courfeyrac warned me then, I wouldn't have known or noticed," _he decided. "Are you aiming to become a police inspector?" he asked Auguste.

"No, a doctor. However the robberies yielded grievous injuries," Auguste replied as he took the letter back. "A vile lot, weren't they? Well, I can tell you that Babet is gone; he passed on some years ago, so these papers say. Gueulemer is in La Force now. Montparnasse is supposed to have left the country years ago. As for Claquesous, nothing more was heard of him after the emeute of 1832."

"Considering all of that, you still linked Patron-Minette to the recent crimes?"

"Maybe not them, but perhaps protégés? Montparnasse and Claquesous are still at large."

Marius shrugged at the boy's conjectures. "If that is so, then I can tell you, you can rule out Montparnasse. Once a man has left these shores, he would have little reason to come back, especially if profit was what he had in mind. Claquesous though…" He tried to remember if such a man had been at the barricade, but he found that he could not distinctly remember someone with such a description, or a stealthy manner.

"Armand, that's my friend, tells me that you were at the emeute of 1832," Auguste said after a while. "Did you hear of the story that came about after, that Claquesous had died at the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie?"

"No," Marius said. "_Would Enjolras have allowed such a man at the barricade?" _he wondered, but he let Auguste continue his story.

"Story has it when the bodies were taken to the morgue, one of them, a man named Le Cabuc, was found with a police card. Well, he was an agent of some sort, there is no doubt about that. Rumor has it that Claquesous had a dealing with the police, which explained why he could afford to run free, but only in the shadows," Auguste said. "Nothing more was heard of him after the incident at the Rue de la Chanvrerie. It makes some sense."

"I do not recall seeing a man such as him in the fight," Marius answered.

"He must have been executed quickly. He was said to have a bullet wound to his head, as if someone had pressed a gun right against his skin," the boy explained. "I wonder who could have had the courage to do to that."

Before Marius could say anything to this, someone hurried down the stairs. "Good morning Monsieur Pontmercy," Armand greeted amiably. He had with him a large book of philosophy. "You have a meeting with Monsieur Lautrec?"

"Yes. I was told to give this to you," Marius said sternly, handing the copy of _The Social Contract_ to the young man. "You have definitely made a strong impression on my daughter's choice of books."

Armand reddened slightly. "It was only because of a reference I made during dinner, and she pursued the matter. I suppose it was not prudent of me to lend her such a thing?"

"Imprudent wouldn't be the word," Marius said. "_Forward? Dangerous? Or just something I am not comfortable with?" _If only these young people weren't so curious with what was happening around them! He suspected, with a mix of amused astonishment, that his grandfather would have disapproved of this trait, especially in his eldest great-grandchild.

In the meantime, Auguste had returned the letter to Armand. "I won't ask for this ever again, my friend," Auguste said. "Monsieur Pontmercy was kind enough to disabuse me of the notion that Patron-Minette was linked to the recent street crimes."

"Such things _are_ finite after all," Armand quipped. "Though Monsieur Pontmercy, what would my father's friend Feuilly have to do with Patron-Minette?"

"I suppose it was because of some past association-you saw that Babet there was a workingman for some time, and possibly Claquesous too," Marius said. "And perhaps they were linked in the revolution, so your friend seems to believe."

"You told him _that_ story?" Armand said, turning to Auguste. "I honestly don't think it was possible. _Someone_ would have picked up if there was a dangerous criminal in the ranks, and he wouldn't have been the only one."

"Maybe someone _did _pick up. Everyone else who was executed was shot up front and from far off. This Le Cabuc was executed with a gun straight to the head, as if someone had been holding him there."

"So you're saying someone _within_ the ranks found out and shot him?"

"Possibly."

Marius flinched at this line of reasoning. He really could not imagine such a scene happening; surely there must have been an actual cause for such a shooting, and not just a person's reputation, if such a thing did matter at the barricades. "Then it is possible, gentlemen, that Claquesous lived through the barricade. You see, _five_ men were sent out. I did not know their names. Perhaps Claquesous changed his name?" he suggested.

"And never regrouped with Patron-Minette?" Armand asked.

Just then, the door to M. Lautrec's study opened. "Let me walk you out, Madame Smith. It will not trouble me," the elderly attorney said, showing out a richly dressed woman who wore her black hair in an elaborate hairstyle. Judging by her tone and manners, she could not have been much older than thirty-three at the most.

"Surely you must be busy, Monsieur Lautrec," the woman said, tying on her bonnet. "And I see you have another guest already."

M. Lautrec blinked at Marius. "Ah, Monsieur Pontmercy! My apologies-the company of this lovely lady here has almost driven other matters out of my old head!"

"You tease," Mme. Smith said coyly. Her hand slipped from her bonnet string when she caught sight of Marius. "Monsieur Pontmercy, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes. And you are?" Marius said.

"Annette Smith, that is what they call me."

"She just arrived from America a week ago. Surely you two are not acquainted?" M. Lautrec said, glancing from one guest to another.

Marius looked at Annette intently, wondering if there was something familiar about the woman. "_That pout though looks like someone's I've seen before…"_ he thought. "Perhaps not," he said dismissively.

Annette nodded before pointing to Armand. "You. Your face is familiar though. You remind me of a young man I knew, who was terribly nice to me. That was a long, long time ago, when I was just a young girl."

Marius glanced at Armand. "Another friend of your father?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know," Armand said, clearly wishing to escape the room, and this unexpected scrutiny. He glanced at the books he carried. "I think it would be better if I did my reading upstairs. My apologies to you, Monsieur Pontmercy, but please also give my thanks to Mlle. Pontmercy?" he said.

"I will," Marius said. "Inform me beforehand if you will be swapping books again with her."

Armand nodded by way of assent. "Good day to you all," he said before going back upstairs.

M. Lautrec glanced at Marius. "A charming fellow, isn't he?"

"Indeed," Marius said. He nodded cordially to Annette. "I won't hinder you now, Madame. A good day to you."

"And to you, Monsieur Pontmercy," Annette said, making a quick curtsy before letting M. Lautrec escort her out of the house.

"He's smitten by her," Auguste said in an undertone once his father's back was turned. "I've seen it before."

Marius decided not to comment on this, but he pointed to Auguste's notes. "I hope your research does not take you into dangerous parts. The Parisian underworld is not something you want to trifle with."

Auguste nodded by way of understanding. "Do you think that P, whoever he was, received that warning?"

"Probably," Marius said. "_Even if it did come quite late." _


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Christmas chapter now. Many thanks to my friends at Abaisse for the insights here regarding Jehan…the writer with downright dangerous stuff under his bed…_

_Eponine Thenardier: I think Marius is getting a good dose of karma, especially after what happened with Jean Valjean…_

_Insanemistosingmore: Yep, too late. We call him Doltboy for a reason after all._

_ColonelDespard: MmeBahorel's fic is awesome isn't it? I actually have a lot I could do regarding Claquesous as a character, but let's see if it makes its way in here…_

**The Unburied Future (VII)**

"This is quite an extraordinary piece of glass. How can one possibly replicate it?"

Armand shrugged as he looked up from the notes he was reviewing. "Mme. Renault said that M. Combeferre left detailed instructions, but I'm afraid that they may need the help of a chemist to decipher properly."

"Lest we blow up the house," Auguste said, carefully placing the piece of coated glass back on Armand's desk. "Perhaps we should inquire with some of our friends from the universities?"

"That would be a good idea," Armand concurred as he sat on his bed. "_If we cannot convince anyone that this project is truly replicable and useful, there is no way we can help Mme. Renault get it published," _he realized.

"Surely M. Combeferre must have some other accomplice besides Mme. Renault," Auguste said. "Your father or your godfather perhaps?"

Armand shook his head. "From what I know, my father was not inclined to science, and my godfather was inclined only to revolution. I honestly doubt they would have much to do with this particular adventure of his."

"What about that other friend of his, Jean Prouvaire?"

"Died too at the barricade."

Auguste sighed deeply. "The good really do pass on too early."

"I know," Armand said, picking up a letter that he had left at his bedside. "He was also close to my father, but their adventures together were…less scientific."

_August 25, 1830_

_Courfeyrac,_

_ I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. Hopefully those ultras in your classes have not been too troublesome today. _

_This morning I received quite a number of comments from those critics I read my short play to. I fear though that one of them must have very nearly shot me in the heart for my supposed misuse of Dante; clearly the brute had only gotten as far as the first part of his Divine Comedy, and had no idea that there ought to be a purging then a redemption after the depictions of such apt punishments. Another one mentioned that I was going quite far in my comparison of the barricades to the necessary fires of purification, and that such disorder could not mingle with the proposed Divine intervention. A third was unsettled at my referring to Agrippa d'Aubigné and his warnings to the persecutors, etc. etc. What a list of complaints I could put here from that individual in particular. It is such a pity; here is a man with potentially piercing intellect, but with only enough capacity to wield it as a stick that is still green. _

_Considering this rather backward reception, would it be too much to ask if you and Bahorel could please read an excerpt or two? I have enclosed a couple of pages; I hope my handwriting is not too troublesome. A little caution though: I made the mistake of leaving a page around when Musichetta was present, and she was particularly put out with the contents, and was almost on the point of asking Joly if they had come from some troublesome nightmares of his. _

_Many thanks!_

_J. Prouvaire_

"It is a pity that the manuscript wasn't in the box," Armand remarked ruefully as he folded up the letter.

"God save us, you might have inherited your father's sense of humor," Auguste said as he rubbed his temples. "And speaking of which, how are matters with you and Mlle. Pontmercy the elder?"

Armand couldn't resist smiling at the mention of Marie-Fantine. "I hope to see her and discuss a little bit when I next call on the Pontmercys. I lent her a copy I had of a work of Voltaire," he replied. Of course, he decided it was better not to mention the fact that the book in question was none other than "Candide".

"Speaking of calling on the Pontmercys, will you be joining them for Christmas dinner? It's three days from now." Auguste asked after a few moments.

"I do not know. If they invite me."

"I hope so, because you see, my father intends to spend it with that Mme. Smith and her boy Pierre. What a supper that will be."

"And I'll leave you to suffer the sight of them?" Armand said. "No, that won't do. You're not going to sit sulking all night while your father woos a matron."

"Most likely I'll have to take charge of Pierre," Auguste replied. "What are you going to do about it, Armand?"

"Find someone who will catch your fancy," Armand said enthusiastically as he got to his feet. "Come on, it is too early in the day for you to give up on your chances."

"What, we're going out?" his friend asked incredulously.

"Yes, to the Luxembourg."

"Armand, that isn't going to work! Remember what happened the last time you introduced me to a girl? She said that she wouldn't have anything more to do with me unless I gave her five louis, which according to her mother, was the price a man had to pay!"

"That was an honest mistake and you know it," Armand said adamantly as he went about fixing his coat. He put on his hat resolutely. "Come on, for your sake."

"I can do without company."

"For mine then?"

Auguste sighed before standing up and dusting off his waistcoat. "Only since I know you won't leave this alone, and I think that instead of commiserating with me, you should be enjoying Mlle. Pontmercy's company."

"_If only things could turn out so well too for Auguste!" _Armand thought as he watched Auguste leave the room. While he knew that his friend was quite lacking in terms of physical charms, he had hoped that his wit and keen mind would more than make up for it. It would take some time though to find a woman of his age who was seeking those kinds of qualities.

As he waited downstairs for Auguste to finish readying himself to go out, he heard what sounded like footsteps from the kitchen. "Who's there?" Armand asked.

"Just me," a child's voice replied in heavily accented French. A boy of about nine years of age, with raven black hair and charming blue eyes, appeared in the doorway leading to the Lautrecs' kitchen and backrooms. It was Pierre, Annette Smith's son.

"How long have you been there, Pierre?" Armand asked. He realized that the child was eating what appeared to be bread and cheese.

"A while. Maman is still talking to M. Lautrec, isn't she?" the boy asked with his mouth full.

Armand shrugged. "Maybe they have important things to talk about."

"I don't think so. M. Lautrec is not my Papa."

"Where is your father, Pierre?"

"He died when I was very little."

"_Much like me," _Armand thought. "Do you remember him?"

The child nodded. "He had black hair like me, and he was the one who taught me a little French."

"A little French! But you were born in America!"

"My Maman and Papa both came from Paris, you know. They met here when they were very young."

"_What if she did know my father?" _Armand wondered silently. Annette had mentioned Armand's resemblance to some past acquaintance of hers. Also, it seemed as if the Baron Pontmercy had been unsettled, if not a little intrigued by the woman. "_What if they were acquainted?" _he thought.

Before he could slip too far in his reverie, he heard a knock on the front door. Armand glanced through the window and felt his heart skip a beat. "_Marie-Fantine!" _Quickly, he opened the door for the young woman and her chaperone, who was none other than her mother. Both women were dressed simply, with modestly-trimmed bonnets and shawls as protection against the chilly winds.

"Good morning Madame Pontmercy, Mlle. Pontmercy. This is a surprise," he greeted.

"Really now? You look quite dressed to receive company, or to go out," Cosette replied. She handed two small cards to him. "We hope to see you and the Messieurs Lautrec at dinner on Christmas Eve, M. Courfeyrac."

Armand glanced bemusedly at the ornate invitation. "Is it a formal dinner?"

"More of a get-together, though Father _has_ to invite friends of his," Marie-Fantine said wryly as she handed his copy of "Candide" to him. "I've finally finished reading it, Monsieur."

"The subject matter is quite provocative," Armand admitted. "What does Mme. Renault have to say to it?"

"I think she'll want a word with you too on the subject," Marie-Fantine said in a tone that barely belied some mischievous amusement.

"That discussion will be lively, I am sure," Cosette remarked.

"Indeed," Armand said, hoping against all hope that the Baronne did not chance to peek at the book's contents. As he flipped through the volume, he caught a glimpse of a sheet of paper folded up and inserted in the cover. A glance at Marie-Fantine's face was explanation enough. "_I am to read it in private," _he decided.

In this interlude, he had quite forgotten little Pierre, who had begun to grow restless. "M. Courfeyrac, who are they?" the boy asked.

"The family of a friend of M. Lautrec," Armand explained before making the necessary introductions.

"Your French is pretty good though," Cosette told Pierre. "You must have had a good teacher."

"The very best!" the boy grinned.

It was at that moment that the door to M. Lautrec's study opened. "It won't trouble me at all, Madame. I'd be happy if you and your son joined us," M. Lautrec was saying to Annette.

"You are much too kind, Monsieur," Annette said. She stopped in her tracks as she saw the other people waiting in the front room. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way out, Madame," Armand replied.

"No, _not_ you. I meant her!" Annette said, pointing at Cosette.

The older woman looked back quizzically. "I do not recall having met you before, Madame," she said in a polite tone

"You do not remember? I'd know your face anywhere. Didn't I see you in your coach on the day you got married? I saw you too, when you came to give my family alms at the old hovel," Annette said, her face now pale with disbelief.

"Alms? What are you speaking of?" M. Lautrec asked the woman.

Annette ignored him, but continued to look directly at Cosette. "Your name is Cosette. You used to live with my family in the inn at Montfermeil. You were known as the Lark. My sister's name was Eponine, and I had a brother named Gavroche. You left the inn with an old man wearing a yellow coat, and he was with you when you visited my family, the same year that those barricades happened."

"Who _are_ you?" the Baronne asked, recoiling with fright.

"How could you have forgotten? My father saved Monsieur le Baron's father at Waterloo."

Cosette stared at the woman before a look of a dreaded sort of comprehension passed over her face. "You can't be her," she murmured. "You've changed. You're so different now."

Armand, M. Lautrec, and Marie-Fantine exchanged looks of surprise and horror. "What is going on?" M. Lautrec dared to ask.

Annette took a deep breath before looking at Cosette, and then at M. Lautrec. "My name in America is Annette Smith. I had to take it, for my sake and to protect my father. I was born here in France though, not far from this city, and my name then was Azelma Thenardier."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Another Christmas update! Joyeux Noel!  
_

_Insanemistosingmore: Yes, it is! :D :D And more characters (mentioned in asides) have other identities too. _

_Eponine Thenardier: Azelma will explain all here. _

**The Unburied Future (VIII)**

For the past fourteen or so years, Christmas Eve dinner at the Pontmercys had been a merry, if not slightly uproarious occasion. "_This Christmas is all that and more," _Marius thought bemusedly as he walked into the sitting room. He smiled warmly at Cosette, but his expression grew slightly wary as he met the eyes of their guest. The two women were a study in contrast; Cosette was wearing a simply trimmed maroon dress, but her face was calm and even solicitous. On the other hand, Azelma was dressed in a bright yellow gown, but her eyes were worried and she seemed to have lost all her good cheer.

"The story is a very long one, Monsieur le Baron," Azelma said after a few moments. "Where should I start?"

"You could tell me first what happened after you and your father left for America," Marius said.

"About that. I know that you were the one who gave Papa all that money to leave," Azelma said. "He wouldn't stop muttering about how fortunate he was, though he wondered if he could have had some more." Her cheeks turned pink slightly as if she had realized how terrible this had sounded.

"Never mind that, Azelma. How did you make a living in America?" Cosette asked.

"Father met some slavers during our first week there. I tried to help him at first, but I found it too trying after a while. I was sick a lot, you see. I couldn't take it: the new climate, having to separate those children from their mothers, and of course all those long hours. So Papa figured that it was better that I go elsewhere," Azelma said.

"He sent you away?" Marius asked a little worriedly.

"He left," Azelma replied curtly. "Left me at the doorstep of the Smith estate; they were plantation owners near where we lived. That was not even two years after I left Paris. Mr. Louis Smith, that was his name, was very kind to me. He was quite old, you see, and he had everything in the world except a wife and children. Since he said I was young and clever, he arranged for me to stay and take his name."

"_A very honorable option," _Marius thought. He wondered how to phrase his next question. "So is he…"

"Dead? Very much so. He died of a cough not even six months after we were married. I think he knew that he was dying, but he could not give up that land to just any one person. I disappointed him. I did not, could not have his child," Azelma confessed. She looked at her hands and back at Marius and Cosette. "What could I do? I was nineteen, and I…I still loved someone else. I was always writing to him, begging him to come to America. He was all I had left of my life here."

"Who was this?" Cosette asked worriedly.

"Pierre Montparnasse. You wouldn't know him. He was a…friend to me and my sister." Azelma explained. "He didn't want to leave with me and Papa, since he could not leave his friends behind. Yet eventually he wrote me and said he had to flee France: apparently one of our other friends Babet had been murdered, and another named Gueulemer was in prison. Pierre—I mean, Montparnasse was not one to stick out his neck for such danger. So I sent him some money, to a friend of ours named Mamselle Miss. I had to write in English to keep up appearances, and she's an Englishwoman. It was perfect. After some time, Montparnasse knocked on my door."

"During all this time, where was your father?" Marius wondered.

"Down in the south. He wrote me from time to time to ask for money, and I sometimes sent when I could. I managed the estate well, as you can see," Azelma said more proudly. "It was easier with Montparnasse around. We were happy for a time. We had a son…if you see my little Pierre, you will know how his father looked."

Marius swallowed hard, now almost afraid to come to the end of such a tale. "Then what happened? Why did you return to Paris?"

"I thought of returning when Montparnasse was killed in an accident. He had been going on business for me, and once the stagecoach he was riding fell into the river," Azelma said, her voice growing soft and sad. "I raised little Pierre alone for a time. I would have stayed in America, really, but my father fell out of favor with some creditor and appealed to me. However this was a dangerous business he had put himself into, and his creditor made a few threats. So I took Pierre with me and fled."

"Your father is still alive?" Cosette asked incredulously.

Azelma nodded. "He is old, and not always hale, but he is. I think the weather in the south is good for him."

"_This world is so unjust," _Marius thought with a shudder. Of course he dared not voice it out, but he would have gladly traded the life of M. Nicolas Thenardier for that of another man, be it Jean Valjean, or his father, or even any of his friends. "_I'd even want my grandfather back," _he caught himself thinking.

Azelma looked at Marius keenly. "I know my sister loved you, Monsieur le Baron. If you had paid her a little more heed, or just a little kindness, she might still be alive today," she said.

Marius glanced at Cosette, wondering what she would say to this. He bit his lip on seeing the troubled light in his wife's eyes. "The only thing I could feel for your sister was pity," he said after a few tense moments. "I understand that I was rather oblivious, even blind to her desperation. If I could have sent her and your brother from the barricade, I would have."

"Oh my brother…" Azelma said in a voice that sounded more like a sigh. "I did always tell him to be careful. He loved fighting too much though. I remember the last Christmas we had together; it was about 1830, I think. He was the one worrying more about me then, even though he was feeling so cold. I gave him my mittens then." She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. "I am sorry for crying this way, Monsieur, Madame."

Cosette shook her head. "It isn't your fault, Madame Smith," she said, touching the weeping woman's arm gently.

Marius got to his feet, now unable to look at Azelma or ask any more questions. "_There is so much I did wrong, and so little I did right," _he berated himself. He willed himself to forget the images of all the ghosts rising up in front of him. "_I was young and foolish then, and had a few mistakes when it came to assessing the value of these things," _he thought as he excused himself and headed over to his study.

He immediately went over to his desk and pulled open a drawer. In the course of rummaging for things, he had found even more missives from the past. Blindly, he reached for one and sat down to read it:

_December 23, 1830_

_To M. Pontmercy,_

_ Greetings! Courfeyrac has told me you were feeling a little poorly during his last visit to your lodgings. I have enclosed a vial of physic for you; I am of the belief that it works better for your constitution than magnets would. I also advise that you keep away from drafts and plug up everything against the molds that tend to grow in damp walls. _

_ Please do not hesitate to appeal to me or Combeferre if you need more medication. I could also persuade my dear Musichetta to send you some of her special chicken soup; it is a hearty one, a recipe straight from the nuns at Picpus. _

_ Do not fear for expenses. The vial is already paid for, with Courfeyrac's money and my good wishes for your recovery. _

_Your friend, _

_P. Joly_

"Did I ever pay you back, Joly?" Marius wondered aloud. He found he could recollect very little of this friend of his, other than the image of a young man with a long scarf and spectacles. "I truly hope I did in some way or another," he murmured just as running footsteps and shouts sounded from upstairs. He quit the study and ran upstairs, just in time to see a door slam and his daughter Lucille pounding angrily at it. Georges and Marie-Fantine were with her, trying to get her to stop crying.

"Papa! Jean and Pierre are being bad to me!" Lucille wailed on catching sight of Marius.

"Why, what did they do?" Marius said, directing his question to his children.

"It's some game of the boys again," Georges said, glaring at the door.

"I think they stole something from the nursery again," Marie-Fantine added, giving the doorknob an indignant shake.

"They took my doll and locked her up!" Lucille bawled, pointing at the door. "Please, make Pierre go home already with that lady!"

Marius sighed as he went to the door. "Jean! Pierre! Open this door right now," he ordered sternly. Moments later, the door opened to reveal the two little imps, looking rather afraid on seeing Marius.

"We were just playing," Pierre said before Jean could speak.

"Yes, but you were being awful!" Lucille shot back accusingly.

"Pierre, I will tell your mother about this. Jean, you should not do that to your sister," Marius scolded. "Now give your sister her doll, and let's go downstairs."

Jean scowled before retreating in the room to retrieve a rather ragged looking doll with golden hair. "Here is your doll, Lucille," he said, offering it to his sister rather sulkily.

"What on earth were you going to do with it?" Marius asked his younger son.

"It was his idea," Jean said, pointing at Pierre. "We were sending her to Saint-Lazare!"

"What!" the older children exclaimed.

"You sillies, dolls don't go there, only bad ladies do, that's what Grandfather used to say," Lucille said.

"Well yes, but I don't want to hear _any_ of you playing this game again. It is a terrible, awful thing that is not good for children. You heard me?" Marius said firmly to his two youngest children and to their guest.

"Yes Papa," Lucille and Jean said, while Pierre only shrugged.

Georges sighed on seeing this satisfactory ending to a debacle. "Why don't we all go downstairs now? Maman said we could sit there if we were quiet," he offered.

"When will dinner be ready?" Jean asked.

"Soon enough," Marie-Fantine said. She glanced down at the book in her hand. "I'd better get that copy of Racine," she said to herself as she made as if to go to her room.

"What for?" Marius asked her.

Marie-Fantine stopped in her tracks and looked at her father. "I am lending it to Monsieur Courfeyrac."

"Is that all?" Marius pressed on.

"I requested _politely_ if I could borrow his copy of Dante."

"It is not your politeness or the literature I am worried about, Fantine. It is your interest."

The young girl sighed. "He _is_ a charming man, but we are only friends. He understands that very well."

"I hope that is all. The last thing I want is for the two of you to be distracted with your studies, or worse," Marius said.

"It is only a little reading! Besides, he has been nothing short of a perfect gentleman to me," Marie-Fantine replied. "You can ask Mama about that."

"_Why did Armand have to be the son of Maurice de Courfeyrac?" _Marius groaned inwardly. That fact really made matters that much more complicated. He nodded to Marie-Fantine. "I'll see you downstairs in a while."

"You need not worry Papa," Marie-Fantine said reassuringly before going to her room.

Marius sighed deeply and rubbed his temples as he walked downstairs. He saw Basque just as he was opening the front door for some guests. "_Speaking of who…" _Marius thought as he realized just who had arrived.

"Good evening Monsieur Pontmercy," M. Lautrec greeted cordially. With him were Auguste and Armand. All three of them were in their best evening clothes, with the young men being dressed in the latest fashion.

"And to you as well, Messieurs Lautrec, Monsieur Courfeyrac," Marius replied. He gestured to the sitting room. "My wife is there with another guest of ours."

M. Lautrec hesitated before nodding to the two younger men to go ahead. "Monsieur Pontmercy, I almost fear to ask, but is Madame Annette Smith or whatever her name is also invited to this dinner?" he asked in an undertone.

"She is. In fact, she is the guest who is speaking to my wife," Marius answered.

"Do you have any idea who that woman really is?" M. Lautrec asked furtively. "I found out a few days ago that she is not quite who she seems to be."

"I know it all. I knew her family, somewhat," Marius said. "She is here as my wife's guest; they were childhood acquaintances," he informed his colleague.

"Her family! That woman has no respectable family to speak of," M. Lautrec said.

Marius took a deep breath, unsure how to defend Azelma's honor against this charge. "What I know is that for her own part, she has done her best to live with some measure of respectability," he said after a few moments. "She is more than just the daughter of her parents."

M. Lautrec nodded stiffly. "That is for your own reckoning, Monsieur Pontmercy. I would advise caution though."

Before Marius could say anything to this, he caught sight of Marie-Fantine hurrying downstairs, carrying her book. "Good evening, Monsieur," Marie-Fantine greeted Monsieur Lautrec politely.

Marius pointed to the sitting room. "I believe you are being looked for there."

"Ah yes," Marie-Fantine said with a smile before hurrying to the sitting room.

Once the girl was gone, M. Lautrec looked at Marius again. "I fear that I am currently indisposed to be at your dinner tonight. My regrets, naturally. Tell my son Auguste that I have gone home, but that he may stay here if he wishes."

"Monsieur Lautrec—"

"I cannot be under the same roof with Madame Smith. My apologies. A happy Christmas to you and your family."

Marius nodded cursorily as M. Lautrec quit the house. "Did she wrong him somehow?" he wondered aloud before going to join the rest of the party in the sitting room. As he expected, he found Armand and Marie-Fantine conversing animatedly, with an occasional comment or two from either Auguste or Georges. The younger children were listening as Cosette told them a story. Azelma sat, listening amusedly to Cosette, but her face grew wan when she saw that Marius entered the room alone.

"He's not coming, is he?" she asked as Marius went to sit by Cosette.

"I am afraid he is indisposed, Madame," Marius said. He realized that Auguste was also giving him an odd look. "Your father says you are free to stay for dinner," he said.

Auguste glanced from his friends to Marius. "I should see to him then," he said rather embarrassedly.

"Auguste, please stay. What am I to do here with hardly anyone my age around?" Armand cajoled.

"I cannot, my friend. I am so sorry, and besides, I think you are very well taken care of," Auguste said, giving a knowing glance to Marie-Fantine.

"Perhaps, it isn't a _physical_ indisposition that has upset your father. I think there was some grave matter on his mind when I saw him in the hall," Marie-Fantine observed. "It wouldn't do you or him much good if you were to leave now."

"You are saying…" Armand began.

"That perhaps he is better left alone for the meantime," Marie-Fantine suggested. "Besides, you wouldn't want to leave your friend here at the mercy of my siblings _and_ the rest of the guests here," she added more lightly.

"Where did she get to be so observant?" Marius asked his wife.

"She learned it from me," Cosette replied mischievously. "Marie-Fantine, if young Monsieur Lautrec thinks it's best for him to leave, then you should not hinder him," she chided lightly.

"Not to contradict you or be impolite, Madame Pontmercy, but I agree with your daughter. My father can be quite temperamental, and if he was truly ill, he would have bid me come out in the hall to assist him," Auguste said. "He will be fine soon," he added, looking at Azelma reassuringly.

"I can only hope so," Azelma said before Basque entered to announce the arrival of another guest.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Finally got the muse back. _

_Colonel Despard: I couldn't resist the irony of having Thenardier live. And yeah, I think that all the events I have described here are a huge can of worms for the Pontmercys. _

_Insanemistosingmore: Well, he *thinks* he was wronged by her choosing not to reveal her past. Of course, Lautrec has been a comfortable bourgeoisie all his life, so unlike most of the main cast, he wouldn't know what it means to have one's name and past become controversial. _

**The Unburied Future (IX)**

The Christmas festivities had been but a short, but much needed breather for Armand and Auguste as far as their studies and various intellectual experiments were concerned. "It was only a matter of time though till you boys would get bored again," M. Lautrec remarked wryly, when two days after Christmas, he found the two young men poring over the notes that accompanied the coated glass that Mme. Renault had given to them.

"It is a puzzle we want to solve, Father," Auguste said in reply. "Armand, don't you think we should call on Mme. Renault and ask if she could explain some of the symbols and formulas?"

"Hm, what were you saying?" Armand asked a little distractedly. He looked at the doodles he had been making on the back of an old notebook of his, and then at his friend. "We should call on who?"

"Mme. Renault. Surely she'd remember where she and M. Combeferre were able to buy or make these chemicals," Auguste replied. "I'm pretty sure she'll be at the Pontmercys' house again today," he added more mischievously.

It was all that Armand could do to keep a straight face at this insinuation. "I don't think that Mme. Renault would appreciate my interrupting her lessons with Mlle. Pontmercy," he said a little wryly.

"But perhaps Mlle. Pontmercy may have a different opinion of the matter," Auguste joked. "I also seem to recall that you owe young Georges a fencing lesson too."

"All right, you do _not_ need to keep on giving me reasons to visit the Pontmercys," Armand chided. He glanced out the window and noticed that the clouds were gray and threatened to let loose sleet. "_There won't be any fencing but there will be a lot of talking," _he noted. Not that he had any objection to that of course.

M. Lautrec looked at the young men suspiciously. "You two must act carefully. The Baron Pontmercy is a good friend and ally in my practice. I will not have your antics compromising the friendships I have worked to maintain," he warned.

"We only mean well, Father, and we will be prudent," Auguste said with a respectful reassurance in his voice. "Won't we?" he asked, turning to Armand.

"_That is not all there is to it, and you know it," _Armand thought. Yet he figured that now would be a very bad time to mention anything about his friendship with Marie-Fantine. He simply settled for a nod and "We definitely will," before excusing himself so he could fetch his overcoat and hat.

Once alone in his room, he sat at his desk to collect his thoughts. "_Now you'd better conduct yourself properly, for everyone's sakes," _he told himself. He wondered for a moment how his father would have acted if he was in this particular situation.

As he readied to go outside, he caught sight of his still-disorderly desk. Lately he had been arranging chronologically all the old letters and papers he had collected from his parents' letter box as well as from Mme. Renault. This exercise was proving to be difficult as many of the notes were not dated, or seemed to have been written in response to mysterious turns of events. However, the previous night, Armand had succeeded in finding a missive that unexpectedly, referred to _him_.

_ Courfeyrac, _

_ Nothing I can write could express how proud I am of you, my friend. Despite all the joking we all had about your inability to hold on to anything, you apparently have broken all expectations and outdone yourself. Believe me when I say that many men wouldn't have the courage to do what you did. _

_ I am sure that the little one—his name is Armand, isn't it, will grow up to be a fine young man, with the best of you and Mlle. Vigny. I am sure that with Enjolras as his godfather, the child won't be lacking even in Jacobinian vertu. _

_ The brandy is on me the next time we are at the Musain_

_ Grantaire_

Armand found himself chuckling at the Jacobin reference. "I am sorry, but that is something I sorely lack," he said as he replaced the note towards the top of the stack. "_I am no Robespierre, and Marie-Fantine is no Mlle. Duplay,_" he thought before having to slap himself for thinking up such a ridiculous thing.

When he arrived back downstairs, Auguste was already fiddling with his watch while waiting to go out. "If we don't find Mme. Renault at the Pontmercys, will we visit the Renaults' house?" he asked.

"If we still have time to," Armand said. "I'm sure that Mlle. Pontmercy will want to discuss something about Dante, and you know how long that is going to take."

"God spare me from the two of you," Auguste said with mock-agony as they stepped out of the house. The December wind was cold and biting, making Armand rub his hands before covering his nose, which was starting to tingle.

It did not take them long to find a cabriolet to take them to the neighborhood of the Marais. When they got to the house on the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, they saw that the front door had been left open. The sight of this was enough to make Armand's stomach feel hollow with alarm.

"Something's wrong here, Auguste," he said as he leapt out of the cabriolet, at the same time a scream came from within the house. Armand bounded into the front room in time to hear someone being slapped followed by a sickening thud. A quick glance in the sitting room told him that the struggle was not there. Immediately he headed for the Baron's study, only to come upon this scene.

Marius was lying unconscious on the floor, with blood streaking his face and scalp. A burly, neatly dressed man with messy reddish-brown hair was rifling through Marius' desk. His companion was kneeling on the floor, holding a knife to Marie-Fantine's neck as he gripped her by her hair.

"Let go of her!" Armand shouted as he lunged forward to punch the attacker in the face. Another punch ensured that this assailant fell out cold onto the floor. The first thief did not have time to come to his friend's rescue before finding himself confronted with Auguste and Basque, who had managed to finally figure out where the commotion was coming from. The two newcomers succeeded in overpowering the thief and wrestling him to the ground to tie him up.

"Are you alright?" Armand asked Marie-Fantine, who had managed to pull herself up to a sitting position.

The girl nodded as she rubbed her neck and the back of her head. A large red patch was already forming on her cheek. "Thank you, Monsieur Courfeyrac," she said breathlessly as she got to her feet and went over to her father, who was just beginning to stir.

"Mademoiselle, what happened?" Auguste asked her as he returned from tying up the second thief.

"Those men came in to talk to Papa about business," Marie-Fantine said. "Then some woman came to the door, supposedly with a message for Maman, so Basque took it. That's when they struck."

"The woman went off down the street, that's why I did not hear. I am sorry Mademoiselle," Basque apologized.

In the meantime Marius had opened his eyes. "Oh my head…" he groaned.

"Please fetch some water and bandages," Marie-Fantine said to Basque. She looked at her father concernedly. "Messieurs Courfeyrac and Lautrec came at the right time," she informed him.

"Where are the gentlemen?" Marius asked.

"Right here," Armand replied, gesturing to himself and Auguste.

"I know that, and I can see you two. I was talking about the robbers," Marius replied as he held his hand to his head. He frowned on finding blood on his fingertips.

Armand went over to take a look at the robbers. He realized with a shudder that both of them had reddish brown hair and the same slightly upturned nose. "Monsieur Pontmercy, are they…"

"Brothers. By the name of Devareux," Marius said.

Armand saw Auguste start on hearing that name, "Monsieur Pontmercy, those men are known swindlers and conmen," Auguste said. "They tried to make a deal with my father, but he turned them away."

"Then they must have been desperate to think of robbing us like that," Marie-Fantine said angrily.

"_Or angry," _Armand realized but he dared not voice it out. Something in the robber's face before he had fallen to the floor had eerily reminded him of someone he had met just recently.

Marie-Fantine caught his worried gaze. "Monsieur Courfeyrac?" she asked him concernedly.

He nodded to her just as Basque returned with the water and bandages. "I'm going to call the police to tell them what happened," he said.

Once outside he had to take a deep breath. "I can't do this to Pierre, or to Madame Smith," he whispered. Yet if his suspicions were true, he knew that Monsieur Lautrec the elder would have yet another reason to hate Annette Smith.

"_I have to ask Auguste later what else he found on Patron-Minette," _ Armand decided before continuing on his way.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Muse oh muse, must you be so elusive!_

_Insanemistosingmore: Yes, and the Marius torture is not over yet!_

_Eponine Thenardier: Hm, that choice of book might be a good idea_

_Wendla Bergmann: Yeah, and I used the cliché of having them name their kids after Colonel Pontmercy and Jean Valjean. _

_This is more of a segue into another bit. Next chapter when it comes will have more of the young people again. _

**The Unburied Future (X) **

It seemed to Marius that the next few hours were a blur. After the police had come over to investigate the robbery and cart away the perpetrators, he and Marie-Fantine had to deal with the perfectly understandable fuss that the rest of the family as well as their acquaintances made over them.

"It is a good thing that the young gentlemen were visiting. Otherwise what would have happened to you two?" Cosette fretted that evening once the children had gone off to bed. She and Marius were straightening up the study and taking an inventory of the items that were damaged in the assault.

"Indeed, though I'd like to believe that if they hadn't been there, Basque would have had the presence of mind to get help," Marius said. He winced as his arm accidentally brushed against the bandage on his head.

Cosette sighed deeply as she got up and placed her hands on Marius' shoulders. "What would I do without you? I almost lost you once in the barricades, and now here, in our own house!" she said.

"The first time, I was a desperate man. The second, I was unsuspecting. But yes, I will be more prudent next time," he said as he kissed her gently to reassure her.

She nodded firmly. "Those men though were known swindlers; a few ladies I know have had their husbands almost conned by them. But why did they choose to be so violent towards you?" she wondered.

"_As always, Cosette notices these things first," _Marius thought wryly. A sort of theory had begun to form in his mind, based on some observations that he had made himself when it came to the thieves. There was truly something about them that seemed a little familiar, but he could not place it.

"Is it possible that they were trained by Patron-Minette?" he mused aloud.

"Maybe. There is no way of proving that though," Cosette said. "Why do you ask?"

"A disturbing possibility," Marius replied as he went to his desk and began to rifle through the drawers. "Cosette, I know that it must pain you to remember, but how many children did the Thenardiers really have?"

"Only three that I remember," she answered bravely. "Eponine and Azelma of course, and a baby boy whose name I forget. It is possible though that after I left, they might have had more."

Marius nodded gravely. While he himself had only seen the same three Thenardier children, there was an unmistakable resemblance that they also had to the brothers Devareux. "_Eponine's hair was the same color under the dirt, and the brothers Devareux have M. Thenardier's nose," _he mused.

"I think, Cosette, that those thieves were somehow related to them, the Thenardiers," he said softly.

"You mean they are. You are suggesting that they were Azelma's brothers? But why didn't she mention them?"

"Maybe it's possible that she was told not to, or that she doesn't remember," Marius said. "Years and years ago, when your father was still alive, before M. Thenardier went to America, I did make a few inquiries as to Patron-Minette and the rest of their friends. I found that one of their associates, a certain Mlle. Magnon, was once a maid here in this very house."

"Well, so you're saying that this Magnon might have pointed them to this place?" Cosette asked.

"So to speak. But there seems to be more…and the answer might have been in my grandfather's letters." Marius opened another drawer, this one designated for old correspondence from his grandfather and his aunt. He pulled out a stack of yellowing paper and began searching through it, till he came up with this note:

_March 1832_

_To M. __

_ Please investigate the whereabouts of Mlle. Suzette Magnon and her two sons Neville and Jacques, and their acquaintance Mlle. Hastings. They were last seen on the Rue Clocheperce last January. The three Magnons are in my charge somehow, and I am anxious to know where they have removed in order to avoid liabilities and troubles…_

"The rest of the note is crossed out," Cosette observed. "Why?"

"We'll never know."

"But if the boys are Magnon's sons, what do they have to do with M. Thenardier—no, are you saying that Magnon cared for two of the Thenardier children?" Cosette said. "It would make sense, Marius, but why?"

"The Thenardiers as you and I know would have done _anything_ to have less mouths to feed. Well anything short of murder," Marius pointed out.

"And yes, I remember that the Thenardieress was absolutely horrible to her son," Cosette said with a shudder. "That woman who was with them to distract Basque, was she Magnon?"

"No, she had an English accent," Marius said. He heard as much from his study.

"Then she must have been that Mlle. Hastings," Cosette declared. "But where is Mlle. Magnon?"

"No one knows. Grandfather never told me, and no one I knew ever gave me an answer," the baron replied. "Do you think that Azelma, or rather, Madame Smith would know?"

Cosette shrugged elegantly. "The question is, Marius, would she want to tell you? It is a very painful, costly subject for her."

"Isn't the past always so, Cosette?"

She said nothing to this, but only reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Let's go to sleep, Marius. We can figure out what to do in the morning," she said as she led him out of the study and up to their room.


End file.
